


Wild Child

by honeydew_ants, MaxTheDumbass



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Universe, But Michael grows on him pretty quickly, Canon-Typical Worms (The Magnus Archives), Child Michael Shelley, Flings the cannon timeline into the spiral, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Jon doesn't wanna be a dad at first, Kid Fic, Minor Cannon-Typical violence, Minor cannon-typical body horror, Parent Jonathan Sims, agnst, found family of sorts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:49:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26399701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydew_ants/pseuds/honeydew_ants, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaxTheDumbass/pseuds/MaxTheDumbass
Summary: The last thing Jonathan needed at this point is another distraction. Already set uneasy by the occasional worm finding its way into the institute, as well as the Archives themselves remaining a disaster, theres much on his mind.He certainly hadn’t been prepared for a child to find their way into his office, demanding his attention.
Relationships: Background Georgie Barker/Melanie King - Relationship, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist/Martin Blackwood, Michael Shelley & Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 50





	1. Chapter 1/Prologue

The life of Oliver Banks was a depressing one, no matter how many times he saw the deceased, it never got any easier. He saw children ripped from their parents, lovers torn apart too soon, he saw sickness and plague, people who died in their sleep, and people who were very much conscious for their demise. Oliver had seen enough death to know it was very rarely pleasant.

He didn't like following the tendrils, it never was nice to see those about to die, but he also knew he had no choice- this is what his life had become. He had learned to accept it.

Today the tendrils had led him to the recently deceased, a rare occurrence, they usually led him to those about to die, but not the first time it had happened. Twin tendrils that where thick and dark seeping into what would otherwise be seen as a perfectly happy suburban home children's toys littering the yard. But of course Oliver knew it was no longer a happy wholesome home, the family had lost that luxury.

The front door wasn't locked, Oliver pushed the door open easily, taking a look at the scene inside. There was a young couple, seemingly around their late 20s lying dead on the floor, the tendrils wrapping around their crowns.

A boy, around seven or eight years old sat next to them, sobbing into his little sweater sleeve. It was immediately that Oliver realized he wasn't a normal child, he was something else. The child had long twisting blonde hair almost the size of his tiny body, and unnatural claw-like fingers that seemed to have far more bones in them then they should have.

This child was an avatar.

Oliver had seen a lot of things in the fifteen dd years he had been a part of the end, cults and ritual galore. But this definitely was on the list of top ten worst things he had seen as an avatar. No child deserved to be a part of this kind of life. 

Shakily,the child looked up at him, his eyes dripping colorful sobs. Oliver had never seen someone so afraid of themselves.

“I-I-I didn't mean too!” He sobbed, clinging onto his little sweater like his life depended on it.

Oliver had never been good with children, even back when he wasn't an undead servant of fear with a dead boyfriend. He cleared his throat, awkwardly patting the sobbing child on the top of the head.

“it's uh, okay and all that.”

The child curled himself tighter into a ball, knife hands digging into his shins. “It's not okay!” he loudly cried. Okay so that hadn't helped, point taken.

“Okay, yeah, uh, things definitely aren't good right now,” He said, awkwardly sitting next to the child, “But uh, I’m sure we can find something to help you?”

“Really...?” he asked nervously, looking over at him.

“Yeah,” Oliver told him, not entirely sure of it himself, “I, umm, I'm Oliver, by the way,” He said, offering him his hand, forcing himself not to wince in pain as the child grabbed onto it with his claw-like fingers.

“Michael…”

“Well, uh, nice to meet you Michael.”

Michael looked up at Oliver, smiling sadly, the image of a child in this situation breaking his heart, “What happened?”

More tears rolled down his small cheeks, which Michael immediately tried to wipe away with his sweater sleeve. “I-I don't know! Th-There was this door! And my friend Ryan went through it,so I followed him. And T-Then I was in these hallways and-” he broke into sobs once more, poor kid.

“It's okay, you don't have to continue,” he told him awkwardly patting the top of his head once more. God he was bad with children. 

“B-But-”

“No, Michael it's fine, really, you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to.”

Michael nodded weakly, his swirling eyes made it impossible to properly get a read on his mood, but he was 99% sure this kid was having a breakdown.

“Listen, I said I was going to find a way to help you and I mean it, I can't really help you myself but uh, I'm sure there's someone who can.”

“Like who?”

“The Magnus Institute!” Oliver said without really thinking about it.

Michael tilted his head at him confused, “The Magnus Institute? What's that?”

Fuck, okay, so he knew plenty of avatars with _mixed feelings_ on the Institute, but Michael was a child. Surely they wouldn't bring out their normal cruelty on him? Oliver had to hope so, because deep down he knew the Eye and it's knowledge would help the child far more than he ever could.

Oliver sighed, “It's a place made to help people like you.”

Michael's twisting eyes began rapidly swirling a kaleidoscope of neon, “Really!”

“Yup, you'll meet people who will take extra good care of you.”

“...Like mommy and daddy did?” Micheal asked nervously 

“Oh, uh, yeah, maybe like your mom and dad.”

That seemed to be quite the relief to Michael who was now smiling at Oliver at what seemed to be excitement, “Please take me there Mr. Oliver!”

“Okay…” Oliver said nervously, “I'll take you to the building inside, but I can't follow you inside.”

“Why not?”

“It's complicated, but don't worry, my friend Jane tells me the Archivist and his friends are very nice. I'm sure they'll like you!”

“Will Mr. Archivist be my new dad?” Micheal asked grabbing onto Oliver's hand, which was humongous compared to the boy.

“I don't know,” He told him truthfully, heading out of the house with Michael.

“I hope so, I don't wanna be without a mom or dad, I think that'd be awfully lonely. I'd even be okay with just a mom _or_ dad, my friend at school Flynn only has a mom and the teacher says it's normal. So I'd be okay with just a dad.”

“Well, with how cute you are I'm sure you'll have no trouble finding a new family.”

Michael pouted or at least that's the expression Oliver thought he was trying to make, “I'm not cute! I’m tough!”

He chuckled at that, “who said you can't be both?”

“Me!” Michael told him, going onto a childish ramble Oliver could barely understand, it honestly was adorable. Oliver listening to him passionately ramble about whatever crossed his mind until they arrived at the Institute. And all Oliver could do was pray to his god of death that they took care of Michael.


	2. Chapter 2

“I wouldn’t have thought of it, really. Wouldn’t have... put it all together even then. Not if it hadn’t been for the fact that, in the last few days of our relationship, Josh had broken down. He told me that he still heard that calliope music. Far off, when he was alone. And it had been getting gradually closer. I mean, they say you can hear one from a mile away.”

Jon took a second to breathe, placing the file back down on his desk softly. 

“Statement ends.” 

Murderous clown dolls. Right. Definitely not the strangest statement he’d had to record, but somewhere up there. If he didn’t know any better, he might have thought this statement to be a joke, given to the institute as some sort of prank. Not that Jon would understand the appeal. 

Shuffling through the rest of the contents of the file, Jon quickly went over the follow up information in his head, but stopped when he heard the creak of a door. 

With a huff, Jon pushed the statement back into its file, resting his hands on his desk. He’d _told_ his assistants to knock before they came in just in case, but at least he’d finished the actual statement part of his recording before he was interrupted. 

“Is there—er...” He faltered a little when, instead of someone standing in the doorway, which was now closed, he saw the wide eyes of a child, peeking up at him from the edge of his desk with some sort of interest. “Is there… something I can help you with?” 

The child stared a little longer, just enough to be uncomfortable, before they seemed to register his words. “Are you Mr. Archivist?” 

“I... yes? Yes, I am. You… you aren’t here to give a statement, are you?” 

They bounced a little on their feet at that, ignoring the question and making their way around the desk to Jon’s side. They stared at the files sitting nearly on the desk. “What are you doing? Can I see?”

“It’s—...for work.” He moved the things on his desk a little further forward, away from the mystery child’s reach, though they didn’t seem to be upset by it. They simply turned back towards him, eyes and smile wide and bright. “Something I have to finish, for my job.” 

The child wrinkled their nose at that. “Sounds boring,” they commented, “we should play a game instead!” 

They seemed excited by the idea, rocking back and forth on their feet as they grinned up at Jon who, at this point, really wasn’t sure what to do. This kid couldn’t be any older than nine. It was unlikely that they were here for a statement, along with the fact that they didn’t seem too eager to get a story out. 

“I don’t think—” He was quickly interrupted when the child jumped a bit, patting Jons arm excitedly to get his attention. 

“Oh! Oh, okay, okay—I’m thinking of a number. You gotta- you gotta guess the number! It’s an easy one,” they promised, shutting their eyes tightly and holding their arms down to their sides. 

Would it be best if he called one of his assistants to his office? Maybe they’d know more about dealing with children. Or Rosie, she’s kind, though she’s probably much too busy to come down to the archives for such a small problem. “Er… three?” 

“It was forty-seven, but close enough! Okay, now your turn.”

Jon gave them a nod, taking a moment to think. “Okay… hm, alright I—wait, no.” He doesn’t have _time_ to be playing games. He doesn’t even know this kid. “I have... listen, I have to get back to work, so—”

“Oh! No, no, wait, we should- we should do a scavenger hunt instead! I’ve always wanted to do one of those,” before he could get another word in, the child reached up onto his desk and snatched the tape recorder, the closest thing to his hand, and ran off to the other side of the room. “You have to close your eyes or else it’s cheating!” 

“What—” 

“I get thirty seconds to hide it! Then you get to come look for it,”

“I know how to—… fine,” with the child watching him carefully, he placed his hands over his eyes, and heard a string of excited giggles from across the room. He winced slightly at the noise, but stayed quite. A couple seconds later, to his left, he heard the shuffling of papers and boxes, as well as a small clack as something was placed down on one of the metal shelves. Then paper and boxes again, then silence. 

Fifteen, fourteen… he really didn’t have time for this. He still didn’t know why the child had come, he hadn’t even asked for their name yet. If anything, wasting time playing these games was just going to make things worse. 

“Okay! All done!” He felt them give his arm a small pat, to which he removed his hands from his eyes, blinking a little to adjust to the small amount of light in his office. “I made sure it was really hard, but it should be easy, so good luck!” They bounced a bit on their feet when Jon stood up. 

To his left, there was a cardboard box sitting on the very edge of one of the higher shelves, threatening to fall. To its side, papers stacked messily up against it, some folded and bent. How the child had managed to reach up there, given their size, he wasn’t sure, but at least he knew where the recorder had been hidden. 

Jon made his way over to the right side of the office instead, the child following closely behind, their grin probably much wider than any childs should be. He began to look through some of the boxes, but didn’t pay them much attention. “You didn’t come here just to play games, did you?”

The child nodded. “I came because Mr. Oliver told me to. I don’t think he would’ve liked to play games, though, he’s _very_ busy.”

For a moment, Jon found himself feeling jealous that ‘Mr. Oliver’ could get out of games for being busy, but he couldn’t. 

“I don’t know any ‘Mr. Oliver’s.” 

Again, the child nodded. “He said you were nice.”

“Sure.” Jon passed by the door to his office, heading towards the shelves on the other side of the room but avoiding the out-of-place box for now. “Do- er.. What’s your name, then?”

“Michael!”

“Michael…?” He prompted, kneeling down to shuffle through some files on the lower shelves. 

“Yes!”

“No, I mean… hm,” He turned a little to face Michael, who was watching him search with a mix of amusement, and excitement. But it was hard to tell with the increasing pain behind his eyes the longer he stared. Probably not the best time for a migraine. “Just Michael?” They nodded. “And you’re sure you didn’t… you didn’t have anyone come in with you?”

Michael shook his head. 

Jon glanced back at the files on the shelf, sorting them back into whatever mess they’d been in before. He really should be getting back to work now. Michael was—… well, he wasn’t sure what Michael wanted, nor why he’d actually come, so all he could do was hope that his assistants weren’t actually working on something important (which didn’t happen often) so that they could handle the situation for him. 

“Okay. Michael, er… I also have quite a bit of work to do, and I am very busy, just—just like ‘Mr. Oliver’, so... I’m afraid I don’t have much time for games either.” 

“But you haven’t even found the thingy yet!”

Jon couldn’t help the terrible feeling that burrowed into him when Michael pouted as he spoke. That’s not even fair. Standing up, he turned back towards the shelf, reaching back to take the recorder from behind the box. Michael must’ve accidentally turned it on while hiding it, which meant he might have to redo his recording. Just more work for his pile, then. Pushing the box back into its place, he held the tape recorder out below him. “This one?” 

Luckily, Michael’s face lit back up as soon as he saw the recorder in his hand, and they nodded. “Oh! Yes! You don’t get a prize,” 

“Right. That’s fine. Now, listen, right outside that door there, I have three assistants who you can talk to instead. Er, no games, but they should be able to help.”

Michael stayed where he was, turning his gaze up towards Jon. “Mr. Archivists’ assistants are nice, too.” He informed him, then seemed to nod to himself, before turning and walking out of the room through the bright yellow door, just like that. 

Except that there wasn’t a bright yellow door. There hadn’t been one earlier either. 

Huh. 

Checking the time, he saw that it was a couple hours past the institutes closing time, which… didn’t make sense. Surely, he couldn’t have been talking to Michael for _three hours_ , right? 

Not much he could do about it now. Glancing down at the still-running recorder in his hand, he made his way back over to his desk, slightly exhausted. He removed the tape from the recorder, opening up Mrs. Denikins file again. Right. He’d re-record the statement, then probably head back to his flat. 

And hopefully never have to deal with children again.

Later that night, when he finally returned home, he came across his second problem of the night. 

Well, technically, still the first problem, but now said problem was sitting on the floor of his flat next to the coffee table, stacking a tower of pens and kitchen utensils. 

Michael glanced up at him as the door opened, grinning widely. 

“Hello Mr. Archivist!”


	3. Chapter 3

Jon looked at the child in front of him with complete and utter bewilderment, “What are you doing in my flat?”

“Why were you at work so late? I missed you!”

Jon sighed in annoyance, he really did not like children. “I had to re-record the statement I had been reading because _someone_ had wasted three hours worth of tape.”

Michael tilted his head curiously, “Who?”

The Archivist just grumbled to himself, already tired of this child's shenanigans. “It doesn't matter, just how did you get in here?”

“Oh, I opened the door!” Michael said matter of factly, carefully adding another pen to the pile he had made in front of him. The tower of pens and kitchen utensils in front of him looked like it was about to fall any second now, yet carefully kept itself balanced and upright. It was almost impressive.

Jon shook his head not allowing himself to get distracted by this child, why was he having such trouble focusing? He was an adult! He shouldn't be having this much trouble focusing!

He cleared his throat trying to regain his train of thought, “I find it very unlikely that you just opened my door, I make extra sure to lock it every morning so that no robbers break into my home.”

Jon wasn't sure why he was so particular about that specific part of his routine, he didn't have anything worth stealing. But it felt like something that kept together people did, and so he made sure to do it each morning.

“Oh, I just used my own door,” Michael said casually, barely processing half the words Jon had said.

“Your own door?” Jon asked carefully, his mind quickly flashing back to that bright yellow door that hadn't been in his office before. Could Michael be- no that'd be ridiculous. Seriously Jon? A creepy inhuman child coming to murder him? This is real life, not a fucking B rated horror movie.

Michael smiled at him, had his smile always been that wide? It didn't even look like it properly fit his face. No that couldn't be right, his eyes surely must be playing tricks on him. Either way Jon suddenly felt as if he was going to be sick.

“Yeah! I have my very own door that takes me anywhere I want!” He said innocently, “Would you like to see?”

“ _No._ ” Jon said bluntly.

 _There are no such thing as monsters._ He sternly reminded himself.

Michael pouted, crossing his arms sternly, “Why not! Don't you believe me?”

“Not really,” Jon said, half lying, leaning down to pick up his pens and utensils off the pile Michael had made on the floor.

“Don't touch my tower!” Micheal said, quickly jumping up to grab at Jon’s wrists in a feeble attempt to stop him, “I worked really hard on it Mr. Archivist!”

“Well, then you shouldn't have made it out of my things,” Jon said coldly.

Michael weakly punched at The Archivist's legs, “M-Mr O-Oliver said y-you'd be n-nice!”

“I'm sorry to disappoint-” Jon began to say until he was suddenly cut off by the sound of a door opening behind him. And before he could properly process what that meant, the child in front of him pushed him in.

Had his hands always been so big?

The door loudly shut in front of him as his senses were quickly overwhelmed by every single color known to man rapidly flashing at him at once, straining his eyes. He could barely process what was going on around him, when had he fallen onto all fours? Was it low quality arcade carpet he felt bellow him or something else? What shows theme song was it he heard playing in this distance? Jon was sure he had heard it before. He crawled ahead in the hallways? Were they hallways?

Jon was on the verge of a migraine and felt as if he was going to throw up, everything was just so bright and loud. It was just so much, he couldn't think in here. He felt hot tears roll down his cheeks. 

Why did this happen to him? What even was happening to him? Fuck, was this even real? Was anything real? Had his entire life just been one complex hallucination that ended with him being stalked by a creepy child?

That child, fuck what had their name been? Michelle? No, that couldn't have been it, Jon was pretty sure they had been a boy. Unless he had been wrong. Had he been wrong? It felt like it had been decades since he had last seen the child, as if an entire lifetime had gone by.

Right as the feeling that he was going to die in those wretched hallways filled Jon’s brain. He was yanked through a door, back into his apartment.

“I've decided I’m not mad at you anymore,” said Michael.

Jon collapsed onto the ground with a thud, his body too overwhelmed by what he had just experienced to hold itself up. He still felt as if the world around him wasn't real, as if this simply was another trick of Michael's hallways. Michael, yes the child had told him his name was Michael, he remembered that now.

Speaking of Michael, he seemed rather unsympathetic with Jon’s breakdown, kicking him lightly with his shoe.

“Mister Archivist, I told you I wasn't mad anymore, you can stop being upset now.”

“P-Please…” Jon weakly sputtered, “D-Don't make me go back there- I’ll do anything just please- Don't hurt me.”

Michael tilted his head at him confused “Why would I put you in the hallways again? I'm not mad anymore?”

“I-I'm sorry… Oh Lord, I’m sorry Michael please don't hurt me-”

Michael frowned, sitting next to Jon “I'm sorry too…” He said hesitantly, “I shouldn't have put you in the hallways, it was mean. And being mean isn't how you should treat your new dad.”

New dad? Jon definitely didn't sign up to be anyone's dad! Especially not the father to any creepy children with murder hallways!

“Dad???” Jon exclaimed loudly, a bit more rudely than was probably appropriate.

“Oh yes!” Michael said excitedly, bouncing slightly as he spoke, “That's, uh, why I came to meet you! I needed a new dad, and Mr. Oliver said you could help!”

Jon was really starting to get jealous of this Mr. Oliver's ability to get Michael to leave him alone.

“Listen, kid-”

“Michael!” Michael said, not wanting his new dad to forget his name.

“Err, right, Michael, listen, I'm not exactly, uh, qualified to be taking care of any children. Especially not any with paranormal abilities.” Jon tried to explain.

Michael pouted, “why not?”

“Well, uh, because I have…. a uh, a super serious office job and I uh, wouldn't have time to take care of a kid like you.”

Michael crossed his arms, “That's dumb, you're a dumb liar, Mr. Jon Archivist.”

Jon ran his hand through his hair stressfully with a sigh, he really wasn't getting out of this, was he? This kid wasn't going to leave him alone anytime soon, and if he told him no he'd just get thrown back into those horrible hallways. He was backed into a corner.

“I'll see what I can do…” He _did_ work for an institute specifically for dealing with the paranormal. Surely _someone_ there would have some kind of an idea on what to do. He'd have to bring Michael along to work with him tomorrow morning, if nothing else find someone willing to babysit him while he read statements. Maybe Martin or Rosie, they seemed like they'd be good with kids.

Michael pulled Jon into a big hug, not bothering to try and prevent himself from scratching up Jons back with his claw-like hands. “Oh, thank you!”

“Oh uh, yeah kid… of course.” He paused for a moment, “Wait, how do you know my name? You called me Mr. _Jon_ Archivist.”

Michael giggled innocently, “The doors told me!”

Oh Lord, Jon needed to get his assistant’s help with this child as soon as possible. He was going to fucking murder him.


End file.
